So Predictable
by CoffeeMarbles
Summary: Every Friday, he'd be there up on the bell tower. He'd never fail to show up. It was a dance, a well practised play, a predictable script that always unraveled during the sunset. He was so predictable. Axel/Roxas


A/N  
AAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!! Talk about a lack of updates and replies ToT I'm sorry you guys! I've recently been caught up in a lot of stuff, so I couldn't get any updates up for Le Jeu de L'amour, nor did I get to reply back to any of you guys for it. I'm so damn sorry! I'll get back to you fellow readers ASAP (ducks from rotten fruit). Thank you for all the comments though!

Well, in the midst of everything, enjoy a quicky I wrote up last night in bed while I was recovering from the mother of all cramps.

Disclaimer: Axel and Roxas don't belong to me, no matter how hard I wish for them to be.  
Pairing: Axel/Roxas

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

He felt his presence before Axel could finish climbing up the ladder onto the rooftop. He heard the footsteps even before Axel stepped onto the concrete surface of the golden clock tower. He could smell his cologne hang in the air like ornaments even when Axel had decided to forego a sprits that evening. In fact, the young student even predicted what he would wear--a hoodie, a pair of baggy jeans, and perhaps his red and white runners. He's worn those all the other times. Roxas knew everything about this man as if he were the back of his hand. The blond even knew how and what the redhead would answer.

He'd say, in that cocky, mocking tone of voice, '_I came to watch the sunset'. _

"Came to watch the sunset." Came the reply. He was so predictable.

"I want you to leave." Roxas said, unmoving from his spot. His blue eyes burned in the golden overlay, his skin tingled with the evening's warm breeze. And the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end when he heard the clomps of boots hit the surface of the concrete. But it was okay; he knew it would happen.

"You think I'd listen to you?" Axel said with a condescending click of his tongue, "you said that last week, and I didn't listen."

Yes, Roxas knew he wouldn't listen. The blond knew he'd just stand there behind him, smirking, livid green eyes having an intense staring contest with the back of his yellow head. Then the predictable redhead would say _'I think I'll stay here a while.'_

"Maybe I'll just stay here for a while longer." Roxas ducked his head to hide a humorless twitch of his mouth. Just as the script read.

Then they settled into a long silence. The redhead remained standing, a couple feet from the boy's sitting form, staring in the same direction of the setting sun.

"Do you often make a habit of chasing around little boys?" Roxas hissed through his teeth, naked digits curling to press against the rough ledge upon where he was sitting. The heels of his black sneakers tapped against the clock tower wall.

There came a foreseen laugh, a scoff, a sneer. The blond didn't even need to turn around to know that the strange man was now less than a foot behind him, crouching. Roxas held his breath, expecting same, unchanging simper to whisper into his ear _'No_'.

"No," the husky voice breathed, "just little blonds who trespass on my turf every Friday."

A warm pair of lips brushed against the smooth curve of the teenager's neck, making the skin break out in goosebumps in the warm summer air. He knew he'd do it, but even so, the small boy couldn't contain the shudder that ravaged his entire body like a single pebble breaking a smooth expanse of a sleeping lake.

The high school student bit his red lips, jerking around to send a fist straight towards the man's tattooed face.

Axel dodged it easily without blinking. It was so practiced, like a dance routine played by the two of them. Roxas noticed his devious smile never left his lips when the tall male crushed the boy's fist in his open hand, yanking the boy backwards and sending him sprawling over the scabrous rooftop.

The redhead maneuvered to straddle the male who was six years his junior. The blond lay limply beneath him, admiring the rightness in the older man's predicted attire. Another empty grin split across his lips, but was quickly stamped down. Roxas relished his power of being able to read this man so well, both loved and hated such predictability. In contrast to his body, his eyes were raging in a ferocious storm, his heart racing in foretold anger, and his mind swimming with malicious thoughts.

Roxas wanted to spit in his face, to rip out his tender throat with his own fingers, to tear into the man's beautiful skin with his house key, to scrape out the vivid emeralds he saw far too often. He wanted to run his tongue along the man's own, trail his fingertips slowly down the column of his neck, to leave collateral red paths down his muscular back with his nails, and snuff out everything except those cat-like eyes. What he wanted to do the most was trap this man between his body, make him his prisoner in this theatrical play.

"You want me." The man said. The yellow sun made his blood red hair shine like ruby, his pale skin glow, and his acid eyes sparkle. Roxas hated it all. "I can see it in your eyes."

Roxas's neck flexed when the man's hips rolled against his own. He wiggled and swallowed back his groan, taking to snarl at the redhead instead. His rage was right on cue.

"I hate you," he gritted out the words, forcing them through the cracks between his teeth. The words sounded—no, _tasted_ so familiar, so practised on his tongue.

The redhead tightened his grip on the boy's wrists, even twisted them. Sapphire eyes stared straight into the abyss of greens. The same sardonic grin continued to play on the man's face. Roxas didn't expect anything different.

"That's what you said last time, and the time before that." Axel chuckled, swooping down with such speed to suck less than gently on the boy's neck. He went for the same spot too. The mark from the previous week didn't even disappear yet. Roxas had to admit that he didn't expect the man to break the skin the last time (but the sentiment was the same--he knew how to react). "And you know what?"

Green eyes were dancing an experienced bounce, so full of life, of power, of desire. Roxas knew exactly what '_what'_ was. He's heard it eight times already.

"You don't give a rat's ass." Roxas mumbled, filling in his sentence. He closed his eyes, and everything plunged into a mix of black and red. The boy didn't need to look at Axel to know that he was smirking down at him, teeth bared as if he were a vicious dog. He didn't need to see his incoming face to know when to tilt his head to give the man the perfect access to his neck. And he didn't have to be told when to whimper out his name. He knew what the man wanted, when he wanted it, and how he wanted it. He was all so predictable, it made the blond sick.

It was sundown when the two males, both shabby in their mussed up attire and hand-raked hair, arrived at Axel's rundown apartment. Everything still looked the same. The finger print stained walls, the dusty television set, the couple of yet to be cleaned dishes in the sink, and the still unmade bed. Roxas knew his way around—he didn't need to be told where to go. He'd do it all himself, because he ran on the script that ran his every Friday.

It was exactly nine, just like all the other times, when Roxas pulled the redhead onto the bed, not his own, and let him rest between his legs.

"Suck me off," Roxas would command, before getting a punishing pinch on his creamy inner thighs. Axel would comply, a cocky grin illuminated by the moon's glow, but only after demanding Roxas beg him for it.

The blond didn't expect anything new. He knew Axel liked his whiny voice. He could have done so without such a useless request, but he found himself rather fond with the tall man's throaty voice to care.

The window was open this time, and Roxas relished the new feeling of the evening breezed whispering over his naked, sweating body. The pair moved in sync with one another, slick skin sliding against each other in well-experienced waves. Roxas's thin hips lifted to meet with the redhead's thrusting pelvis.

Roxas ran his nails down the man's arms, hissing, cursing, and crying out an oh-so familiar name. It came out automatically, as if the four letters were engraved in his throat.

"Roxas…"

The blond's back curled off the mattress and flopped down again with every harsh movement the redhead administered on his body. Blue eyes snapped open to the man's raspy voice. A pair of murky greens stared down at him. Slender arms looped around a thin neck, reducing the space between the two panting faces. The younger boy smirked, lips pulled into a quivering grin as he groaned.

"I want you to make me scream."

Axel's lanky arms wound themselves tightly around the boy's squirming frame and he pressed his throbbing body flushed right up against the teenager's, effectively pinning his entire being into the moving mattress. Roxas felt his weeping erection rub sinfully against his partner's firm stomach, felt the smooth skin of the man's muscular back lock with his smooth thighs and calves. Every dip, every curve of Axel's body fit perfectly with Roxas's, and tall male rocked against him once, twice more before he pressed his mouth firmly against the blond's bruised lips, swallowing the uninhibited scream that was his name.

Seconds, minutes, hours pass, and Roxas found himself awake from his short slumber. The digital clock read 1:38, perfect time to get dressed and sneak back home to tell his mother he was caught up at a friend's house. As he stares up at the dirty white ceiling, glowing in the eerie blue light of the full moon, the boy runs a familiar scene in his head, one involving his mother in her blue robe, frowning and asking him where he was, and Roxas knows just what to say. He'll shuffle around on his feet for a while, staring guiltily at the ground, and tell his mother he was over at Hayner's playing his latest video game. Then he'll be grounded for the weekend, but Roxas knows he won't mind—the weather forecast predicted rainy skies this weekend anyway.

It was all so predictable.

The teenager carefully shuffled his way out from under the slumbering man, and slid his naked form to the bedside. He snatched his discarded pair of boxers that was hanging shamefully off the edge of the bed and tugged them on.

But before he could leave the warmth of the mattress, a hand shot out at bullet speed to ensnare the blond's wrist.

Roxas's heart raced, and he was positive his stomach and lungs just caved in on themselves. He didn't even have the strength to turn around and face his captor. He didn't know what he would do afterwards if he did.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Stay with me, Roxas," a voice asked. Roxas could barely make out the words—all he could hear was the jungle drum of his heart. "Stay with me until dawn—I want to wake up with you beside me."

This wasn't supposed to happen. Why did he decide to change the script now?

"Let me go," Roxas hissed, face contorting in confusion, apprehension, and panic. What happened to the predictability? What happened to his plan? His detailed map to get home and lie once again to his mother?

Axel give a firm, commanding tug, pulling the boy backwards onto the mattress. The boy wasn't still this time. He was writhing around, pushing, snarling, and even kicking beneath Axel's caging body. He was so desperate for a way out, desperate to find a way back into the norm he could foretell and prepare for. Not this.

"No, no, no!" Roxas sobbed, thumping his fists weakly against the bare chest above him, "this isn't what you're supposed to do!!"

"But I want to do it." The frightened blond could only whimper as a tender hand caressed his face. He didn't know how to react to his touches this time. "I know you want to stay with me too. Why won't you?"

"Because I hate you."

He expected the same answer, expected the reply he's heard so many times before. He wanted to hear an "I don't care", an "I do too", or the favorite "I don't give a rat's ass". Roxas wanted to hear that. Then, at least he'd know how to react. He'd just smirk and send him a fist and get the hell out of the apartment, if only Axel would cooperate and stick to the script he knows.

But Axel didn't want to. Instead, the man cupped the boy's reddening face in his hands, and leaned down to press a pleading kiss to the pair of quivering lips.

"Don't say that," Axel whispered, stilling the blond while simultaneously throwing him into a frenzy of the unknown. "I know you're lying. I can see it in your eyes."

Roxas wanted to scream out, rip out the crimson hair, and hurt him till he cried. He wanted to cry out in need, fist his hands in the scarlet forest, and punish the redhead until his name spilled from his lips. What he wanted to do the most was to run away, far away from this man he could no longer read, no longer set a counter-attack for.

"I want you, and you want me," Axel said, his voice far too quiet for Roxas's liking, "you want me to be your captive, don't you? You want to do things to me, you want to hear me say your name like how I make _you_ do."

His mind was blank. Roxas didn't have a clue or a lead to where he would go now. "How do you know?" He reached a dead end. In a flurry of improvisation, Roxas threw the redhead a surprise fist.

But the tattooed male merely dodged it, fluidly in fact, and shocked the blond by pinning the offensive hand against the pillow. The redhead only chuckled. He leaned down, and smirked against the boy's trembling mouth.

"You're so predictable."

--oOo--


End file.
